


Fate Can Step Aside

by wickedorin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Episode Ignis Verse 2, M/M, Post-Episode Ignis Verse 2, Rutting, Sickeningly Sweet, sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 04:25:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17114426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedorin/pseuds/wickedorin
Summary: Written for my "Fuck SESTA/FOSTA" drabble drive. Request:  "Verse 2 Sweetness - 'Wine and wishes'"





	Fate Can Step Aside

**Author's Note:**

> Dripping with SAP and sickening sweet feels because they fucking deserve it and also whoops this is not as filthy as I expected but whatever, they do what they want.

It was something that he had been convinced all of his life he could not have.  That the world and the Gods themselves and _fate_ had been against, had repeatedly and deliberately steered them both away from.

And yet there they were in their barely-dressed states, having shed most of their clothing in part under the guise of how warm it could be in Insomnia at the end of spring, windows cracked open and allowing the scent of flowers on the balcony to drift in with the evening breeze.  There was no pretense about the _other_ reason, nor did Ignis make any attempt to hide the way his long-restored eyes drifted over his king’s barely-clothed form, _appreciating_.

Noctis noticed, grinning to himself and leaning back a little further for a better view as he took a sip of wine.  Dress shirt falling open, pants long-abandoned to show off Prompto’s joke gift of hot pink coeurl-print boxer briefs, he managed to look every bit a king and yet also every bit his still-youthful self.  “Like what you see?”

Ignis snorted at the awful line, though he did admit, “Very much so.”

Delicately placing his wine glass on a nearby table, Noctis then beckoned his adviser and husband over.  “Appreciate closer.”

Shaking his head as though he hadn’t anticipated the behavior shown, there was no actual argument from the brunet.  He shed his own shirt completely, old scars from old battles invisible in the low light, though he knew they could be picked up with touch.  He anticipated it, fingertips mapping out those hurts which hurt no longer.  His briefs were quick to follow, abandoned on the floor as he moved closer, pausing for a short moment.

Noctis chuckled at Ignis’ lack of asking permission before simply tugging the coeurl-print underwear down and off, forcing him to lift his own hips quickly so as not to rip them (gag gift or not, they were _comfortable_ and hilarious to wear beneath the costume of ceremony during the day).  The shirt followed, eased off of his shoulders and tossed to the floor, the king giving an amused and inquisitive raise of his eyebrow at the lack of care given to the “mess”.

Ignis didn’t respond directly.  He hardly needed to, moving to straddle his husband’s lap, bringing their already hardened cocks together with a roll of his hips and a delicate little moan.  Another entire evening, night, and morning together, and yet there was so much time to make up for.  So many things to explore and indulge in, including the simpler pleasures.

Like rutting against each other, breathy moans shared against one another’s lips, Ignis wrapping his arms around his king while Noctis reached directly for that point of contact, hand wrapping around both cocks and squeezing, stroking, willing them on.

It was still too easy, maybe.  Too fast, the build and the release.  Ignis took comfort in knowing that was true for _both_ of them, and hardly a problem.  They did have all night and morning, after all; plenty of time to practice.  And the next night, and the one after…

Noctis reached up and pulled his husband down with him, willing them both to collapse regardless of the mess between them.  He smiled, tired and warm, at the fact that the brunet offered no protest, merely a slow slide of arms around him.  Playfully, the king whispered, “Make a wish.”

The hesitation was thoughtful, careful, Ignis’ mind dragging itself into functioning again.  The answer required little thought, in the end.  “There are no more wishes left to make.”


End file.
